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Rackham - Storyflash
The civilian car pulled off the countryside road onto the paved but nevertheless dusty parking lot. Surrounded by loosely arranged trees, a rustic-looking wooden fence, and the occasional trashcan or road sign, the parking lot lay squarely in what most of Rackham’s colleagues would have thought of as the middle of nowhere. And indeed, for a city boy, the surroundings were almost unbearably rural. Apart from the sprawling farmhouse complex squatting on the far side of the meadow beyond the wooden fence, there didn’t seem to be a building within the next couple miles. All that was visible were gently sloping hillsides and small gatherings of trees here and there. He was 15 minutes off the I-65, on a road that he wouldn’t have sworn even had a name – if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d looked it up a long time ago and knew for a fact that it did. Killing the engine, Rackham exited the car and took another look around. Apart from his vehicle, a privately owned Seat 515 originally mainly chosen for its inconspicuous looks but now sporting a slightly battered and neglected exterior, there were only a handful of other cars and one motorcycle currently resting in the spacious parking lot in front of the Ranch. Not a lot of visitors today, it seemed. But that was all well, as the Chicago Detective had intentionally chosen a predictably comparatively quite Tuesday morning for his trip here. As he started to make his way to the entrance gate and looked around for the person supposed to be expecting him here, he got no further than a few strides before his cell phone rang. It was Burley, as the digital display gladly informed him upon a quick and slightly annoyed glance. Couldn’t give it a rest, even for one morning, the stubborn son of a bitch, now could he? “Burley”, he grunted into the phone in lieu of a greeting. “Hey Racks – where are you? I got something… just came up… can we conjoin?” “Told ya I was takin’ the mornin’ off, man. Medical appointment, y’know..” “Ah true, remember it now. You said that, right. When d’you think you can be back at the precinct, then?” “Look, I’m kinda outta town, right now… and I’m probably gonna be a while…” His tone was beginning to let a bit more of his impatience show than he might have actually intended. But he was starting to get fed up with his partner’s constant drive and relentless ambition to solve this insane, ridiculous pet case of his. The whole mystery hobo responsible for all those deaths thing. It was starting to grate on Rackham’s nerves, and he found himself a bit short on nerves as it was, right now, anyways. “Anything I should be worried about?”, his partner tried to infer his concern and loosen up the audible tension that was building over the wireless line at the same time. “Nah, nothing that needs to concern you”, Rackham cut the attempt at human empathy off near its root. “Okay, whatever. Nevermind then. Just let me know when you get back in the vicinity, yeah? I really need to show you these new…” Rackham zoned out before he could learn whether it was photos, or witness statements, or whatnot, that his partner had dug up now, on his desperate quest that he suspected was at least half again as much motivated by revenge for the disfigurement of his previously passably handsome face, as by the sense of justice that Burley kept pushing to the foreground as the true reason for his newfound private crusade. “Yeah, yeah”, he just mumbled into the phone distractedly. He had just spotted who he was looking for, walking nervously towards him across the meadow beyond the fence. “I oughta be done here soon, anyways… I’m gonna let ya know…” With that, he hung up on the phone, slipped it back into his pocket, and turned towards the entrance gate, resuming his walking pace towards it. Not for the first time, his gaze rose to the giant label affixed above the gate, which, fashioned in a faux-Old-West style, said Sunnydale Ranch in giant, carved and blackened letters on wooden planks that were undoubtedly of modern make but had been weathered and aged just enough to convey a romanticized rustic, olden times vibe. And not for the first time, he stopped just a few steps short of actually crossing through the gate, waiting instead for his host for the morning to come out and meet him here, at the final outskirts of the parking lot. *** Chicago Police Accident Investigation Report . . . . . . . . . . . . . Page Nr. 2 of 3 Type of Investigation: Motor Vehicle Crash Police Department: Westbridge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Code: 01 Station: 07977051 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Case Nr.: T-1006 Description of Accident from Driver #2 Driver #2, one Harris M. Furrings, states that at the time of the accident, he was driving down Western Mainstreet just south of 22nd Ave on the #1 lane. Planning to turn left into 22nd, he switched into the #2 lane and flashed his taillights to indicate his intention. He states that he was driving at or below the permitted speed limit for this section of Western Main, and approached the intersection with all due alertness and in compliance with general traffic laws. The intersection in question being an unregulated crossroads, he emphasizes his watchful approach to the intended left turn. The traffic lanes in both directions of the crossing street were reasonably well observable, and so he made his turn. That is when, according to driver #2’s statement, car #1 appeared “as if out of nothing”, speeding towards driver #2’s car from the left hand side, threatening to impact car #2 in the driver’s side. Unable to tell whether the other driver (#1) was aware of the impending collision, he “acted purely on instincts” and pulled his car around to swerve sharply to the right, to get away from the danger. Also, he stepped on the gas at this time, to accelerate his own vehicle and maybe get out of the path of the inbound car #1. Not having completed his left turn at this time, the maneuver took him to “somewhere pretty much in the middle of the crossroads, maybe off to the left a bit, I reckon”. Driver #2 further states that car #1 however did not maintain a straight line of approach – which would have avoided the impact or at least reduced the crash to a glancing contact. Instead, the other driver #1 swerved to the left, “obviously in a shocked and surprised attempt to avoid the collision” but, as driver #2 states, “in entirely the wrong direction”. The cars collided, car #1’s nose hitting car #2 in the driver’s side. Driver #2 believes that only his quick reaction to “step on it” has saved his life on this occasion, as this meant that the impact happened further to the back of his car, and he was not himself directly hurt by the inwardly distorted metal of the vehicle’s chassis. Instead, only the back seat and trunk were directly hit, and driver #2 merely lost conscience from the crash. He states that the crash must have sent his own car spinning around and slithering across the crossroad from the force of the impact, because when he regained consciousness a few minutes later, and exited his car, he “felt I was in a different place from where the impact had happened”, but still on Western Main / 22nd Ave. Driver #2 states that, in a state of shock, he did not do anything until the paramedics arrived. He thinks that was a few minutes later. He then got processed through the usual procedures. Report of Human Injuries and/or Casualties from Paramedic Unit D-35 Chief paramedic Henderson, and junior paramedics White and Sedlack arrived at the site of the crash at 21:34 on Sept 17th. They had been informed of the accident by their dispatch unit in the usual manner, and responded to the call as they were amongst the nearest emergency units to the named location. Upon arrival, they found two wrecked cars, one male black adult, looking to be in his thirties, wandering the crossroads and picking up shattered chassis parts, as well as a number of other cars that had stopped to look on or wait for the debris from the crash to be cleared. In one of the cars, they found three more victims of the crash: two white adults, male and female, appearing to be injured or critically injured, and one female white minor, obviously injured as well. “There was blood everywhere inside of that car”, states junior paramedic White, and “I knew instantly that the girl was in trouble, and when I got a look at the parents, it looked dire for them as well”, states junior paramedic Sedlack. The passengers of car #1 could later be identified as the Rackham family, consisting of Junior Detective Michael Rackham, his wife Julia Rackham, born Sierra, and their 4-year-old daughter Clara. When the emergency medical team arrived, chief paramedic Henderson states that he and his team were just finished taking care of the shocked driver #2, and removing the unconscious bodies from continued on page 3 Filed on: 2003/9/19 SSV Nr.: 332-P ____(signed)_______ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .___(783)____ Officer’s Signature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Service Number *** Head Nurse Selena Hadleigh headed straight across the meadow, passing by half a dozen kids and two adults who were playing there with a few dogs, huskies from the look of them. When she had well passed the group, she veered towards the gate and approached Rackham, but not without shooting nervous glances over her shoulder before closing in on him. No doubt she felt exposed out here, her presence suspicious in the eyes of potential onlookers from the ranks of her superiors, patients, or visitors. He didn’t mind – he had repeatedly offered to meet her somewhere else, somewhere more discreet, but she had refused every time, arguing that she felt it unprofessional to do so. So she preferred to meet on institution grounds, in spite of the risk of appearing suspicious to someone overly attentive to their dealings. But there was hardly anyone in sight, actually. The children group was busy throwing balls and little sticks for the dogs to fetch, paying little attention to their surroundings beyond their game. Elsewhere on the meadow, a white-cloaked orderly was pushing around an elderly lady in a wheelchair, and even further in the distance two men could be seen, obviously taking a walk while having a smoke. By all rights, Selena Hadleigh could have relaxed – but she didn’t. The mousy, vaguely british-looking woman’s gaze settled insecurely on Rackham’s silently waiting expression. She nestled with her ash-brown ponytail for moment, then cleared her throat. She had shed her profession’s iconic white overcoat and come out in plainclothes – and plain indeed they were. Like many nurses, she wasn’t a flashy dresser by any account. A drab jacket over a crème blouse, combined with astonishingly unremarkable earthen-colored skirt and shoes, made her appearance a dreary composition of muted browns and faded pastels. “Mr. Rackham”, she forced a professional smile onto her lips and into her voice, “it’s… good to see you…” Already, that smile was crumbling around the edges. “Would you like to step into my office for our talk? Or we have a very nice lounge area with outstandingly recommendable food if you’d like?” “Naw”, came his drawled out reply, signaling disinterest so brusquely as to border on rudeness. “Let’s take a little walk instead, shall we?” It was no more a question, really, than she had expected a positive answer to her own questions. “If you will, of course”, she managed to squeeze a little hint of indignation into her agreement. As they walked away from the gate and towards the early noon shadows of a row of trees growing alongside the wooden fence delineating the Ranch’s premises adjacent to the parking lot, the two of them made an awkward looking couple. Him in his well-worn black leather jacket, sturdy jeans and boots, with a few oily curls of his jet-black locks falling into his face whenever he lowered it for a moment, surrounded by an aura of urbanity almost palpably out of place in these rural surroundings, and her almost melting into the countryside background if it hadn’t been for her visibly nervous and reluctant manner. They walked wordlessly for a few moments. Then Rackham reached into his jacket, and pulled out an unmarked envelope. Hadleigh’s shoulders tensed up when she saw it. He extended the flat, bureaucratically beige packet towards her, and simply said “this quarter’s payment”. “No no no no!”, she backed away from him, hands raised as if to defend herself against the offensive object. “I cannot accept that” Then, with a slight droop of her shoulders, she added in a different tone “I really thought you had come to talk, this time. You know -“ “Take it”, Rackham simply reinforced his gesture with as few words as he could muster. “You know it’s yours.” “I really can’t -” “On the contrary, Ms. Hadleigh”, he lowered the envelope as if not to threaten he quite so directly with its presence anymore, “you have to take it.” “Look, it’s against all the regulations to receive unregistered money like this! I don’t know how my predecessor handled things with you, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know really, but… but it’s bad enough I did it those other times…There have been questions his time! I really have to stop. I could even lose my job if this ever comes out!” She had unconsciously taken a few half-steps backwards, away from the city cop with the illegal money in the inconspicuous envelope. Despite them being the only people anywhere in hearing range, she spoke in semi-hushed tone, and her words were hurried by her intense unease. “Why don’t you donate through the official routes, anyways? Your due fees are paid well in advance, and anything else that you like to give – is always welcome of course! But you can give it by way of official donation… keep both of us out of trouble…?” “No, you look”, came the harsh and unmoved reply, “I wanna spend this money where it counts. Not for some bureaucrats and doctors-in-chief to decorate their offices with it. And I know you damn well need it, too –“ “Our donation channels are all AMP certified and very well documented! Any donor can use our convenient online form to trace where his money is going at any –“ “Oh, now cut the bullshit, will ya?” A faint droning sounds as if from an approaching vehicle came into hearing range somewhere down the road. Undeterred, Rackham continued to insist. “From what I gather, your animal therapy ward just barely dodged having to sell two horses and a cow last month alone. And effective two months ago, rabbits and geese have been halved, due to the cost in fodder from what I understand? Your electro stimulation program has raised its fees across the board, and that seems to be due to the intense maintenance costs of the devices, am I correct? You are under-teched, underpaid and understaffed…” A bus came into view, looking much like one of the many schoolbusses that could often be seen in Chicago’s morning and noon traffic, but with different markings. Wasn’t exactly the normal schools that sent their kids out here for a day’s vacation. Hadleigh noticed the bus as well, of course, and tensed up once again. Guilty looks in the direction of the bus, the Farmhouse-gone-treatment-centre across the fence, and around the nearly empty parking lot followed, before her attention returned to him. He didn’t give her a chance to protest again. “And how do the budget cuts affect the amount of money you can spend on activities with the patients, huh? I want the people working here to be able to do it as well as they possibly can”, he implored her with a grim expression permitting no adversity. “Now you take this money and find the ways that it needs to be used.” He glanced over to the approaching bus, then to the children and huskies playing on the meadow, “Before your dog squad is the next to go…” As the bus drew into the parking lot, and children proceeded to spill out of its innards, Head Nurse Hadleigh’s defiantly set shoulders had already dropped, her gaze had become resigned, and she nodded in weak agreement as she hurried to grasp the envelope in as unsuspicious a manner as she could, and proceeded to slip it underneath her jacket. “Well, a good day then, Ms. Hadleigh?”, Rackham ventured, sensing her tense eagerness to be elsewhere right now. “A good day, Mr. Rackham”, she mumbled almost inaudibly underneath her breath, already striding away from him. Already, one of the couple of adults who had emerged from the bus amidst the crowd of twenty or so kids had started to look around for someone to receive them on their visit. As Rackham lit a cigarette and slowly ambled over to the fence, he saw a single orderly appear from the Farmhouse and approach the gate from inside, apparently to meet the visiting group outside. Hadleigh went there as well and started to exchange words with the group’s caretakers. *** Chicago Police Internal Investigation File Investigation of Junior Detective Michael Rackham, serving with Vice Squad Chicago, SN 17-D-5, for Involvement in Traffic Accident, Responsibility Assessment Police Department: Dunslow Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Station: 12800341 Code: IIF-03-ITA-135-12-2-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Nr: ITA-135 This Commission hereby recommends the total and immediate absolution of JD Michael Rackham from all responsibility for the above detailed traffic accident. Having at long last been able to record the JD’s statement – delayed due to his extended hospital stay and long stretches of unconsciousness – we find that the investigated bears no guilt or partial guilt of the terrible road crash. Allegations of intoxication at the time of the accident, thus pointing to a possible DUI case, could not be proved to the satisfaction of this commission, and have therefore been summarily dismissed. No other allegations concerning breaches of traffic laws or general civil conduct on the part of the investigated have been raised, nor proven. In the light of this, the commission recommends to clear JD Rackham of all accusations and merely suspend him from service for the duration of his rehabilitation treatments, plus three (3) months thereafter. All due empathy should be shown to this young, so far faultless member of the police force in his time of deep grief. We wish to express our heartfelt condolences in the face of the terrible loss that befell JD Rackham and his young family, and it remains only to wish them all the best for their future. Signed: 2003/11/28 Chief of Investigation: Police Commissioner Harold Langfield (signed) *** The mixed group of children and teenagers that had emerged from the bus – it must have been one of those collective rides, where several… institutions… each sent a smaller group and paid for a larger transport together – had been received by the orderly, and with minimal need for Hadleigh’s interference, were just now being herded onto the premises. Rackham had stayed in the shade of the trees and idly walked up and down along the fence, careful to keep his distance to the group of minor therapy patients, while finishing his smoke. As he was about to stamp it out on the gravelly ground between the parking lot’s asphalt and the meadow’s lush grass, he noticed Hadleigh making as if to follow the visiting group inside, but in an oddly halfhearted manner. And sure enough, she shot an insecure glance in his direction. He dropped the cigarette, ground it into the gravel with one rough-shod boot, and made as if to head back towards his car – provoking her to make a move if she wanted to continue their conversation. As far as he was concerned, he was done here… for this time. Seeing him making to leave, she indeed gathered her nerves and with one last look towards the receding group of visiting patients, visibly gave herself a push and set herself into motion on an intercepting path to his own. He slowed down, then stopped, letting her catch up to him. The silent question on his, somehow permanently grumpy-looking, face was answered by her timid, yet urgent-sounding voice: “Mr. Rackham, I was… meaning to ask you…” “Yeah?” a careful measure of impatience inserted into the question, to make sure she hurried up or left him be already. He wouldn’t take the money back, if that’s where she was going with this. “Would you… would you perhaps… like to… come in and see her… this time?” She asked timidly and with downcast eyes. “I mean… all this money you give us… and I’m sure grateful, it’s just I hope it never comes out, you know… but I was thinking…” “Were you now?” his tone still carefully controlled, kept icily neutral so as not to betray neither rejection nor compassion in too great a measure either way. “I was thinking”, she started a new attempt, “you have to be wondering how she’s doing, don’t you? After all these years, and I checked the records”, she was speaking very fast now, as if to get it over with before he would interrupt her again and she would not find herself able to launch another go at the topic, “you’ve never once been registered in the visitor’s logs, and you’ve always refused to let me give you any reports on her condition or the progress of her rehab, and…” She was running out of words, fast, which seemed only to contribute to the urgency of her speech however. “You’ve got to wanna see her, don’t you? We can make it a confidential visit, if you wish, or even bring her out from the premises if you’d prefer that…” “No”, he cut her off, swallowing down his pain and turning it into bitterness somewhere deep down in his churning stomach, then spitting it back up as gruff rejection. It was a trick he had long since mastered, and nowadays barely even noticed using. It had all but become second nature to him. “No I don’t wanna see her”, he continued, now sounding angry and dangerous, “and what I’d prefer is that you’d never ask me about that again, Ms. Hadleigh”, pronouncing her name as if it was a threat. An ages-old police trick, but it almost never failed to unsettle the opponent. Or at least to re-establish some professional (not to say outright hostile) distance when conversations became too personal in his line of work. “I fully trust that your patients are in the best care that you can give them and that my money can buy them. I need to know no more details about any particular patients of yours, thank you very much.” That’s right, blur the issue, misdirect the opponent, insult the nurse with your sarcasm, he thought to himself. Anything to get away from the topic that is too painful to face head on, even after all these years. Maybe especially after all these years. Browbeaten, the Head Nurse gave up. She’d owed herself a try, he could see that clearly, but now that she’d made her attempt, she didn’t have that much fight in her to continue the discussion on idealistic principle alone. Good. Apparently he had made himself clear, then. “I’ll tell you when you can expect me to want to meet her”, he offered, in a belated attempt at mending fences. It wouldn’t do to get her too angry at him, after all. “When she asks to see me, that’s when. But she didn’t do that, now did she? She couldn’t, even, could she?” An uneasy silence settled between them. “Well, then that’s that, for now. Thanks for your concern though”, he managed to add, unconvincingly. The silence stretched for a few heartbeats, until it was slowly broken by the distant rumbling of another motor vehicle approaching the Ranch. A few, wordless moments later, an ambulance van came into view on the road, and proceeded to pull into the parking lot and approach the front gate. The van’s window panes were shaded, so it was impossible to perceive the people inside. Looked like it was either a celebrity transport (some of them wouldn’t wish or would’nt be able to use their own limousines but would still put great stock in anonymity) or a permanent admission of some sort. Not all of the patients in there were necessarily just “visiting” for a while… in fact, not all of them were even considered curable in the long run. And as he well knew, the Ranch was in the habit of becoming an ultimate, permanent stay for some of those who the doctors assumed would simply never get better again. The white van with its red and blue medical markings was ambling idly in front of the gate for a few moments, the driver probably calling in to reception to confirm their arrival. This gave Hadleigh all the excuse she finally needed. With a quick glance at her watch, and a recognizing look as if she had expected such an arrival (which was not only possible but in fact likely of course), she tore herself away from Rackham’s silently brooding figure, and strode towards the van. *** Phonetic Transcription of Post-Surgery Report #152/03 Operating Surgeon: Dr. Tearney - begins at 00:11:31:15 of Tape #152 Female patient by name of Rackham. Delivered with various fractures to rips and limbs, critical state of blood loss, severe fractures to the cranium, unknown but presumed severe extent of damage to cortical mass. Patient was stabilized prior to the operation, and was still attached to breathing support and blood pumps during the surgery. Junior surgeons with defibrillators and other emergency equipment stood by during the intervention, but were not drawn upon during its course. Successfully opened the cranium at squamosal suture, removed a number of splinter fragments of the parietal bone and occipital bone from the subdermal tissue, and parietal lobe, and Wernicke’s area. Splinters ranged in size of between 0.02 and 0.85 inches, and were numerous, as both adjacent bones had taken severe fracturing. Successfully cauterized injuries in affected areas of cortical mass, no major artery damage evident. Cerebellum seems not to have taken any damage beyond the severe concussion affecting the brain at large. Other adjacent parts of brain were measured to show blood flow within acceptable parameters, no anomalies evident. Successfully restructured parietal and occipital bones, and re-closed cranium at squamosal suture. MRI scan suggests threat of hematoma formation on prefrontal cortex and premotor cortex. These areas could not be reached by this intervention, and have to remain under observation. Potential need for further intervention there is estimated not unlikely. Surgery concluded at 01:42 on 2003/09/18 with patient physically and cerebrally stable, and moved back to ICU ward for further observation and examination. Basic vital functions presumed intact, but considerable amount of cognitive deficiencies is expected to remain, especially in the areas responsible for language, higher motor functions, and vision. God bless her poor soul. ends at 01:17:25:08 of Tape #152 *** Having waved the shaded ambulance van through the gate, Hadleigh made off back onto the premises as well, sparing not so much as a look back at Rackham this time. As he went back to his car, he lit another smoke, glanced at his watch and got ready to leave. As he pulled out of the parking lot, his glance wandered across the large sign above the gate one more time. Below the giant etched letters proclaiming it as the “Sunnydale Ranch”, smaller letters informed a more careful onlooker of its repurposed properties as “Rehab Center and Therapeutic Treatment Clinic”. Yeah, that sounded nice and hopeful, didn’t it? They couldn’t very well have added “and Long-Term Storage of the Permanently Deranged” to that, now could they? Naw, that would’ve surely been way too Victorian ages for the oh-so-progressive medical community these days… His cell phone rang again. He picked it up after quickly glancing at it to confirm it wasn’t Burley this time. “Hey Marty. What’s up?” He listened as the Falcini crime family’s representative rattled off a few niceties, confirmed that Rackham had received the usual envelope, and proceeded to briefly sketch the current situation for Rackham, who only made occasional affirmative grunting noises during the Consigliere’s monologue. He liked to ramble a bit sometimes – but it was generally wise not to interrupt him at it. “So if you would be willing to do the family, hm… another one of your little favors in this matter”, the high-ranking criminal finally got to his point, “your, um… circumstances… permitting…?” “Sure man”, came the not-so-wordy reply of the hard boiled cop, “…anything.” Marty, happy to hear it, rambled on some more, but the conversation soon came to its natural end. Rackham hung up and dropped the phone in the passenger seat. No need to pocket it, he thought, probably gonna be only a matter of minutes before Burley next calls with some new “hot lead” of his… Heading back in the direction of the I-65, he was off to some more dirty work for the mob, then. More tightrope dancing between his job as a law enforcement officer and his mafia contacts. But so be it. They paid better than anyone else would, and in his position in Homicide it was all but trivial for him to extend a few favors every now and then. Thoughts of his illegal moonlighting for the Falcinis inevitably led back to thoughts of Clara, however. Even though he had never seen her since, he could never forget her. The clumsy grace of her first few steps. That lovely little voice forming its very first words. How she skipped through the warm summer rain in her little yellow dress on that one weekend vacation out of town, delighted as only a four-year-old can be by the big, heavy drops of water falling down from the sky to join her in her dance. How she had loved horses more than anything else in life… Each of these memories was a red-hot dagger forever twisting in his heart. For the baby child that he’d had didn’t exist anymore. And the daughter she might have become was never meant to be. All that remained was his inextinguishable guilt, and the memories that would never go away. He could not bear to look at her, after that accident, not in the state she was doomed to permanently remain in. But this way, he could at least make sure she was with her beloved horses. Even if she was just lying limply on the back of one, held in place by an orderly or three, and mindlessly drooling into its mane. The therapists said it helped these children, made them feel better. So if there was any part – any part – of her still somewhere in there, then he knew she would enjoy these awkward and degrading moments with all her heart. And if that was all he could do for her anymore – god dammit, then he’d fight for that as long and as hard as he had to.